


Manhattan Behind Her

by AccidentallyTheWholeFanfic



Category: Harvest Moon, Harvest Moon: Friends of Mineral Town, 牧場物語つながる新天地 | Story of Seasons
Genre: Character Study, Drama, Emotional Abuse, Friendship, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Spoilers, One Shot, Origin Story, Present Tense, Starvation, body image issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25493281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccidentallyTheWholeFanfic/pseuds/AccidentallyTheWholeFanfic
Summary: Jennifer Benson leaves her miserable, upper-class Manhattan prison for parts unknown. She doesn't know where she'll go, or what she'll do to get by. She doesn't know who she'll become. She just knows she needs to get out for good. A look at the "before" story of the new girl in Mineral Town.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	Manhattan Behind Her

**Author's Note:**

> Suuuuuup. Well, this was unexpected. I've been wanting to get on with continuing both Stumbling Out of the Shadows and Finding the Way Forward for a while, but with the Friends of Mineral Town remake out recently (and general chaos at work), my attentions were diverted, and my energies were sometimes dampened by exhaustion and depression. Fun times. Either way, I've been loving the remake (and the same-sex romances, natch), and while some of the redesigns and name changes have taken some getting used to (like, ohh, "Ann" to "Ran"), it's been an overall fun experience so far.
> 
> And so I decided to write about Miss Hippie Chick, Jennifer. Our new girl, who probably smells like patchouli and incense, and has crystals instead of internal organs. While she weirded me out and kind of grated on me at first, she did grow on me with time (albeit her way of speaking is... weird, who the hell talks like that aside from, like, Andre Leon Talley?). And while her backstory is a bit cliché, they did plant this idea into my head, a little one-shot that digs into and expands upon that idea. The idea actually came to mind from the video for Ayumi Hamasaki's song "Dearest" (an excellent song from an excellent artist), though the title is taken from Sara Bareilles's "Chasing the Sun" (another excellent song and artist, although the context is quite different). I wanted to use a lyric from "Dearest," but none seemed to fit right... ah well.
> 
> And while I typically don't trigger-warn my stories, I figured maybe in this case, why not. There are references to emotional abuse, starvation, and body image issues, so consider yourself warned. Plus, y'know, spoilers for Jennifer's backstory. Also, my second attempt at writing in the present tense, so I may have some cleaning up to do since it's something I'm still very unfamiliar with.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. Feel free to leave a review, if you'd like.

If it weren't for the rain, Jennifer figures, she might be able to _hear_ how hard her heart is pounding in her chest. She can certainly _feel_ it. Every nerve in her body seems to be alive, lit up in the wee hours of that inky February morning. The downpour hammers away at puddles of white slush and the cold pierces through her modest black hoodie, though she would attribute maybe just a small part of her trembling to the temperature. Excitement? Fear? She can't put a name to it, she just knows the adrenaline is hard at work coursing through her veins. She hasn't slept in over a day, and right now, she couldn't if she wanted to.

Sheltered from the rain by the flimsy protection of the lonely bus stop, she clutches her duffel bag and its meager contents tightly in her lap. Every so often, she instinctively reaches for her phone to check the time, before chuckling in mild embarrassment at her forgetfulness. She'd learn eventually. After all, this was but the first step. No keys. No phone. No wallet, though she does keep her ID on-hand, just in case. She hopes she doesn't really need to use it much. She has enough money to get by, she figures, for the time being. Hopefully she doesn't need it for long. Not much of it, anyway.

She wonders if she can make it. She's wondered this for a while, through months and months of dreaming, and mere weeks of planning.

_It would be so easy to set myself up..._

A pang strikes her chest at the thought, and she struggles to swallow it down. No, that wasn't what she'd decided on. That wouldn't be her anymore.

Still, she can't help but keep the thought, tucked away but still present in the back of her mind, from nagging at her. She has, or perhaps now it's more like she _had,_ the resources to do this more... _responsibly._ Is she being stupid, unreasonable, irrational, _ungrateful_ for not utilizing them? Is she being brash, impulsive, and thoughtless? Is she overcorrecting, overcompensating for the life she's lived thus far?

Suddenly, she's picturing herself, cold and wet and miserable, curled up all alone beneath a tree in the rain somewhere far away, dirty and sobbing, wondering how to make her way back home. Is that the sort of future she's about to set up for herself? The thought sends a chill through her flesh and a wrenching feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Before she knows it, her thumbnail is worried between her teeth. She stops, feeling her face warm a bit, before looking around. Her mother isn't there to scold her for such an unbecoming display. Her father isn't there to level those pointed, judgemental gazes her way every time she steps a toe out of line.

_By the time they wake up... where will I be?_

She has no answer for that. Her eyes flicker out over the misty road. The bus should be coming soon.

_Should I have... even left a note?_

She has no answer for _that,_ either. But at least she leans towards a "Why bother?" here.

 _But if I ever nee–_ want _to contact them... I know how. Just... a letter. An email–okay, a letter. A letter..._ maybe _a call, but..._

She doesn't want to think it, but it barges in anyway:

_Will they notice? Or care?_

Her lips pull into a bitter frown.

Their publicist will probably whip up a solid cover story right on the spot the second they notice anything amiss. That's what life is like as a Benson. Best face forward for the public. Put pictures on Twitter of Leila Benson planting trees in Ghana while her husband strips the Amazon of its own foliage. Put their beloved daughter on a strict diet and an intense physical regimen with the personal trainer, so she can look mind-blowingly gorgeous in her expensive bikinis and designer dresses on Instagram, with someone else's words on body positivity posted alongside them. Or on being free, loving yourself, _being_ yourself, all while she shills overpriced and unnecessary garbage. _Buy this and maybe you'll live the life I live, too! This is what I use, wear, eat, and drink to look the way I do!_

 _Not without some retouching first, of course,_ she thinks, swallowing the lump in her throat. Dressed down in baggy, torn jeans, the hoodie, the ratty knit cap, and no make-up, she could barely stand the sight of herself in the mirror earlier. It was like looking at a stranger. Maybe it was for the best. If she didn't recognize herself without makeup and filters and facetuning, hopefully nobody else would, either.

 _It's just what's expected of us. Think of your followers, Jennifer. Think of how much you're making. You could be the next Kylie Jenner. Do you know how much_ she _makes per post? You're getting so many endorsements now! Stop being so dramatic, Jennifer, you're not_ that _hungry, it's not like we_ starve _you. We know curves are in, but there are still standards. Staying in great shape doesn't come easy, any woman would kill for your waistline, or to be as beautiful as you are. Do you hate being beautiful? Why are you complaining_ now, _Jennifer, why not years ago? Think of how many people you're inspiring, Jennifer. You'll never make it without us if you don't toughen up a little. We've given you such a good life._

Maybe... she _doesn't_ owe them a letter.

Still, she can't help the feeling of conflict raging in her heart. Has she just not tried hard enough to get through to them, to open their eyes? She can turn back now, hang on just a bit longer. Maybe a breakthrough is right there in front of her eyes, now stinging at the corners as she fights to keep her composure. Nobody is around to see if she breaks down, but she knows she'll hate herself if she does, nonetheless. She already almost broke down out of guilt an hour ago when she stopped at a convenience store and treated herself to a pack of snack cakes and some chips.

 _But what if there isn't any way to get through to them? ...And what if I'm getting myself into an even worse situation? What if I don't know what I'm doing, or... what if... what if, what if, I'm_ sick _of what if!_

She closes her eyes and draws in slow, deep breaths as she feels a panic attack coming on. And exhales. She inhales again. She exhales again. Her thoughts are centered now. _For_ now. She knows it won't be easy. She knows there are things ahead for which she's simply unprepared. As thoroughly as she likes to believe she's prepared herself for the path ahead, she knows life can throw curve balls at any second... especially on the path she's chosen.

_The rain is washing my footprints from the snow. Jennifer Benson is flowing out of Manhattan in rivulets... let's see where fate takes her._

At the very least, she reasons to herself, she'll miss Central Park terribly. But the country, the _world_ is full of natural beauty and splendor. There's so much more her eyes have not yet seen.

Her eyes open at the sound of tires on the wet road, and she spots headlights from the corner of her eye. Her lips suddenly feel dry, and she licks them. _No more chapstick._ It was such a simple thought, but she felt its implications carry an unexpectedly heavy weight. No more chapstick, no more phone, no more laptop, no more California King bed, no more prepared–yet tiny and unfulfilling–meals, no more luxurious bathtub or walk-in shower. She'd dropped off her designer clothes at a number of shelters earlier, not knowing what else to do with them and figuring they may as well bring someone else the joy they hadn't brought her. No more Dolce & Gabbana, no more Dior, no more Prada, no more Gucci, or Valentino, or Chanel, or Louis Vuitton, or Hermès. The employees at the shelter must have thought she was crazy when they saw the labels she was giving away. Or suicidal. Or hopelessly out of touch.

 _No more Louboutins,_ she thinks gratefully as the bus squeaks and hisses, its door sliding open. _No more hand-picked celebrity boyfriend of the week._ She wobbles a bit as she gets to her feet in her boots, and smiles at the weary-looking driver, who waves her on and takes her fare.

_No more guarantees. No more security._

She heaves a shaky sigh and takes a window seat in the back of the nearly-empty Greyhound. An elderly couple, a middle-aged man in a suit, and a bleary-eyed young man in his teens are the only other occupants. She doesn't stop to worry or wonder if they recognize her, with her long, blonde hair twisted into a bun and poking out of the opening at the top of her knit cap. The door closes. She feels the bus lurch forward, and the dark, streetlamp-lit, rain-streaked blocks of Manhattan begin to blur past in her peripheral vision.

Jennifer Benson is no longer one of the New York elite. Or, at least, the child of the New York elite.

 _The_ tool _of the New York elite._

_I'm... going to become my own woman now._

Her heart twists and her stomach flips. She pulls a book from her duffel bag and begins to read, wondering how she'll decide on a stopping point.

Maybe, she thinks, maybe it won't even have to be a permanent state of living for her. Maybe this will just be a transitional phase for her on the way to becoming whoever it is that she's meant to be. Her... _reinvention?_ she thinks, before immediately casting the word into the passing shadows. Reinvention is for pop stars looking for a new sound, a new image, a new angle. _Rebirth?_ It seems a little dramatic, a little cliché, but she reasons that it works well enough for her. After all, she's only twenty-three. She still has many more years ahead to keep evolving.

Her fingers tremble as she reaches into her bag once more, pulling out a pack of chips and some water. _It's okay,_ she tells herself, feeling a small rush of exhilaration as she hears the bag crinkle beneath her fingers. She tears it open and digs in with a small grin as the bus continues on its way, leaving Manhattan behind her.

\------------------------

 _Maybe I overdid it after all,_ she thinks miserably, curled up in her dark tent several weeks later. She's wrapped in several blankets she bought, but the cold still pierces through to her skin. The rain and wind have died down from their earlier howling downpour, but the occasional damp gust still slips through the flap to make her shiver.

She's far from home, alright. Every stop on the way, the different terrains, every new state line crossed, every green sign on the interstate naming some unfamiliar cities or towns some miles away, and it just hadn't been far enough for her. Her journey didn't so much come to an end because of her gut telling her it was time, but because she'd reached the west coast and felt like going up to Alaska would be overkill.

Still, something about Mineral Town drew her in. It was a cozy little coastal village nestled at the foot of a mountain, rustic and charming. Simple. Unassuming. A handful of small farms provided the residents with much of their food, and the air seemed to thrum with some sort of unfamiliar energy.

And now, _for_ now, it's her home. Maybe it will just be her temporary home. Maybe it will grow into something more permanent.

As much as she wants to eschew money entirely, Jennifer realizes that this romantic dream will be quite impossible to fully commit to in the long run. She makes intermittent trips into town for the simple necessities. Minor toiletries, and a little food and drink, because it's still too early to begin foraging for things on the mountainside. _And I need to learn_ how _to do that,_ she realizes with a little grimace at her own short-sightedness. Thankfully, Mineral Town has a library. She hasn't yet met the proprietor, but she figures it won't be very long before she does–Mineral Town is incredibly tiny, and though she tries to keep a low profile for now, until she gets on her feet, she's already spoken to several of its residents.

It's basic, small talk that doesn't reveal too much about herself or her situation. Yes, she's new in town. Her name's Jennifer. Is she just passing through? "Uh, well, we'll see. I'm just taking it day by day right now."

And day by day it is. Her few changes of clothes only get the most basic of washes in the river that cuts through town, and they're starting to get uncomfortable and smell a little. She still can't quite get used to having to relieve herself outside yet. She thanks her lucky stars that she can at least bathe _herself_ in the hot spring just down the hill.

As far as she knows, nobody is aware of the tent that has sprung up by Mother's Lake, or that its occupant is the unfamiliar face to whom they sold some tampons, dried fruit, and rice balls last Thursday.

 _I knew it wasn't going to be easy,_ she reminds herself, hugging her knees to her chest and shivering. She has no phone to occupy her time, no laptop, no workout schedule, no photoshoots, no fittings, no extravagant and excessive parties. She has no friends to whom she can vent, though if she stops to think about it, she never really did in the first place. She has her thoughts, the birds chirping in the trees, and the rain pattering down in a steady rhythm.

In a way, she finds it a little enchanting. And in another way, she wonders if this is how she will eventually go mad from boredom and isolation.

_It's a new environment... I can make it. The blankets are soft, the weather will warm up... eventually... I can pick berries and bamboo, I can brew tea, I... I can... find work, or..._

A sharp burst of wind rattles the tent, making her jump a bit.

_...Shelter... better shelter... but... where? And how...? My money will run out eventually. And I can't go home, I can't..._

As it sometimes does, the thought nags at her again–how are her parents reacting now? Are they worried for their daughter, or for how the absence of their daughter will be perceived by the public eye?–and she pushes back it out with some effort. New York wasn't home. And maybe Mineral Town won't be home, either, not forever. But for now, it's a start. She'll get herself on her feet out here, at least. Go to the library when it's open, figure out the next step in her plan. Ponder, ponder, ponder.

It's all a part of growing up, she constantly tells herself nowadays, and this is how she grows up. She's even starting to believe it, just a little bit.

Letting out a sigh and flopping down onto her side, Jennifer stares out at the thin sliver of sky and earth visible through her tent flap. The rain is picking back up. _It's a state of mind. This can be very cozy, you just need to expand your mind. Your ancestors did this at some point, didn't they? They got by off of what the Earth gave to them. You'll get this. Maybe you don't have it yet, but you_ will _get it._

She really hopes she can believe herself more fully in time.

As she starts to drift off into a troubled sleep, something catches her attention. Something faint, but distinctly... human. Someone's calling out. Is someone out on the mountainside in this weather? Other than her? Are they in trouble, calling for help? She stirs, and gets up clumsily, wrapping herself in a poncho and ducking out of the tent.

"Hello?" she calls, cupping a hand around her mouth to help her voice carry through the pelting rain. The voice calls back, and she looks around and squints, trying to determine where it's coming from. Male, and fairly youthful. Part of her thinks this could be a trick to get her out, get her guard down. She's heard the stories before. She hates herself for even daring to think she'll need them, but she has a knife in the pocket of her cargo pants, and pepper spray in her hoodie. "Are you hurt?!" she calls back, louder this time.

"Hey, Harris, I think they're over there!"

Another voice is calling out now. Female, also quite youthful. She sounds around Jennifer's age.

"Is everything okay?" Jennifer asks, seeing two shapes take form in the gloomy distance as the circle the lake's edge. They're both walking and upright, so they don't seem sick or injured, she reasons. There's a stocky man with a bushy brown mustache, and a petite redhead clad in a bright yellow raincoat. The redhead waves, the man tips his newsboy cap, and Jennifer cautiously returns their greeting. The pair comes to a stop a respectful distance from her, all three of them doing their best to shield themselves from the elements.

"How's everything going?" the man–Harris, Jennifer presumes–says, giving her a disarming smile. She feels like she's seen him in town before, patrolling the streets. Maybe he's the local police? She wonders if she's about to be busted for illegal squatting. "Are you alright out here?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Jennifer responds cordially, still keeping her guard up. "And you?"

"Can't complain," Harris answers with a chuckle and a shrug. He looks around, his eyes settling on the tent, eyebrows going up. "So, ah, you're camping out here, then?"

Her heart sinks. So much for Mineral Town. Exhaling, she nods and avoids direct eye contact. "You... could say that. But if I'm not allowed, then of course, I'll be perfectly willing to pack up–"

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no!" the redheaded girl cuts in, waving her hands in what seems to be an attempt at placation. "That's not it at all, don't worry! No, see, a couple of people have mentioned seeing you around, is all, but then they ask me and my dad about you, and... well, we run the inn here in town," she explains, off of Jennifer's confused look, "so naturally, since you don't seem to have any family here in town, they figured you were staying with us. And... since you aren't, you know... people talked, some of us got concerned..."

"...We _may_ have followed some reports about people seeing you up here in the mountains," Harris adds sheepishly, looking away and scratching the side of his nose with an awkward, crooked smile. "Which is fine, it's fine! You don't seem to litter or anything, and far as we can tell, you're not causing any trouble, just... well." He gestures around them. She understands immediately. It's cold, wet...

_And a little miserable._

"...I mean, like I asked before," he continues, " _are_ you alright out here?"

Jennifer feels something in her heart, in her stomach, maybe even a little lightness in her head, at the baldly sincere displays of caring from these two strangers. Maybe it's still a ruse, and they're just very good at it because she's starved for this kind of affection from others. _Or maybe there are good people in the world,_ she reasons. _Genuine people, who care about other people just because..._

She doesn't know how to answer, and she wrings her hands, and worries at her lower lip. _Is_ she alright out here? Well. That's a layered question if she's ever heard one.

Catching the hesitance in Jennifer's response, the redheaded girl takes a few cautious steps towards her, an understanding smile on her face. "Well, hey there–you don't have to answer out here, y'know? It's freezing! C'mon, the inn's much warmer, and we can fix up some lunch for you there, on the house, and get to know each other better!"

Jennifer's stomach growls, and warms at the same time, and she pushes down the anxiety building from the idea that she can eat a nice, hearty meal, in front of others. The worry lingers that they might silently judge her and appraise her as she eats, and pick apart what she orders, but she does her best to quash it down for now. If nothing else, she at least knows how important it is to treat her body right, far more than her parents do. She flashes a grin in earnest, for what feels like the first time in ages, and she nods. The redheaded girl's bright blue eyes light up, and she pulls Jennifer in by the crook of her elbow, before looking over to Harris. "You in?"

"Sounds good to me," Harris agrees, patting his belly. "I could go for some pie and a Reuben right about now, to tell you the truth!"

"Ah, save it for when we get there, dude, I'm not writing that down here! Oh, by the way–" The girl turns back to Jennifer, "–name's Rania, but my friends call me 'Ran.' Nice to meet you!"

"Harris Thompson," Harris adds, reaching around Ran to give Jennifer's hand a firm shake. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss...?"

Shaking Harris's hand, Jennifer promptly returns the greeting: "Jennifer. The pleasure's all mine." Her heart swells as they troop down the winding path through the hillside, past a quaint little woodcutter's cabin in the forest. _Maybe this_ can _be it... maybe,_ she thinks. She doesn't want to fully commit to it just yet–she hasn't even been here a full month yet–but she finds that the friendly faces are already elevating her mood a fair deal. She doesn't feel anywhere near comfortable disclosing her full situation just yet to anyone, but she can just be vague on a lot of the details for now, and hope they'll understand. Maybe, she reasons, just maybe, this is a sign that things might turn out okay in the long run. _But for now... day by day. It'll take some time to adjust..._

"Well, Miss Jennifer, welcome to Mineral Town! We're glad to have you, we just hope you like it here..."


End file.
